Breath
by maisay.may
Summary: We've all experienced that innocent, warm feeling of a crush. Sometimes you get over it, and sometimes it grows. It can grow to be so beautiful, into something we call love. But, while beautiful, it can be so confusing. Latvia is about to find this out. To put it frankly, shit is complicated in the love life of Latvia, especially when it comes to the Russian in the room next door.
1. Prologue

Prologue

If you had ever been there, during the night, in the little room the first on the left, you wouldn't have guessed that there was a person sleeping in the bed. Not a single movement would have alerted you of the presence of a tiny body existing beneath the covers. He didn't shiver, or shake, not a sound escaped his blushing lips, and the size of him made it nearly impossible to tell there was a person. The only thing that may have given him away was a pair of periwinkle eyes wandering around the room.

They weren't really searching for anything. They were simply looking, leaning against the things scattered about the room, and staring at what light escaped from the hallway. There wasn't much to look at. But to the little Latvian in the bed, there was much more to hear.

Breathing. It wasn't snoring, but it was loud enough to hear from his room. He tried to regulate his own breathing to match it, often, but (probably due to difference in body size) he could never comfortably do it. It was a complex sort of noise, not wheezing, but it didn't sound easy, either. It sounded stressed. Unhappy. It was the kind of breathing that was done by a man who worked too hard, and collapsed the second he got home, with more work ahead of him to be done. For some strange reason, the Latvian was intrigued by it. The sound of the air being pushed out of the lips. The occasional and suspensful pause where there would be no noise at all, followed by a louder pull of air, yanking it inside by force. It wasn't that it calmed him down, no, it wasn't that simple. He couldn't exactly pinpoint the feeling he experienced, listening to it, but he knew he felt better when he did. Knowing that the other man was there.

He often imagined the chest, rising and falling. From time to time, you could hear a swallow, followed by the licking of lips. As Latvia licked his own lips, he imagined the other doing it. He saw the faded mouth in front of his eyes, dampening with the entrance of a pink tongue sweeping the surface. He longed to see for himself, to sneak into the room, and to watch the man as he slept. But he didn't budge. He remained achingly still, for he knew that he could never summon the courage to enter the room of the Russian.

So he continued to listen, avoiding all other thoughts, to the steady breathing. Like a slow, perilous heartbeat of the night, it kept him awake. He closed his eyes several times, but he knew that sleep wouldn't come to him until pearls of light began peeking in through the house, and the breathing slowly began to wake up.


	2. Chapter One

A New Situation

The first thing he noticed was the temperature of the dishes. They felt strange, different. They weren't hot, like when you take them out right after the dishwasher has been run. But they weren't cold either. The hard ceramics felt like rubber in his hands, the dampness still on them as Latvia picked them up and placed them in their homes. As he opened the cabinets, he decided the porceilin skin of the plates and bowls could only be described as simply, warm.

He often did the dishes, because it took up time, kept him preoccupied, but left him still free to day dream and to think. You are never quite as free to think as you are when you do the dishes. He'd listen to the others drift through the rooms, talk to each other, smile, as he clinked plastic, and glass, and delicate china into their designated cabinets. And, though he hated to admit it, he would wait. For the familiar ruffle of a coat being dawned. The sound of the door opening with an aching creek, footsteps dragging along tile. The same sound he heard every morning never failed to stuff excitement down his throat, where it got lodged in his heart.

He was putting away the coffee cups when he heard it. The mug in his hand was shaking as he moved to put it away. He wasn't facing the doorway, but he could hear, and feel, when the Russian entered the room. The chilling breeze of winter was unmistakable, and the smell of vodka started seeping through the air. It spread like water spilled on a table, reaching out and taking every corner of the room for its own. He was on his tip toes, reaching to push a the cup into place with his fingertips, when he felt a large hand on his head.

"Good morning, Latvia." he said.

The cup slipped with a sudden jolt from him, and he cursed as he watched it fall. It wasn't as if he hadn't been expecting it, so why did he still jump every time he was touched? From behind him, another large hand moved lithely to catch it. "Ah, careful... you're shaky again today, I see?" Reaching up, he easily placed the cup on the shelf Latvia had so much trouble reaching. As he turned, Latvia saw the shocking figure of the tall man through his opened coat. The strong-looking body was something few ever witnessed, and he relished what glimpses he got. But they always made him flush, which is the one thing he always tried to avoid, at any cost. As the trembling continued, he bit his lip, and looked away. Russia looked back down at him. His breath was heavy, and Latvia was close enough to tell it was warm. In his mind, he wrapped his arms around Russia, he buried his face into the endless expanse of a broad chest. He breathed in the cold, special smell of his lover, as he curled his fingers around the back of his coat, leaning his head back to look up at him. "Good morning." he would say, smiling. "Good morning, Russia."

"Hmm?" said the man, ruffling the feathers of Latvia's hair lightly.

"Y-Yes, sir..." he stuttered. "S-Sorry, it won't ha-happen again."

"That is okay. I'm sure it won't, da?"

"...Y-Yes, sir."

The Russian turned away from him. Freed from the encounter, Latvia finally noticed the other man in the room. "A-Ah, Estonia, you d-don't have to-"

"No, I'll put them away." said Estonia, sorting the silverware in Latvia's place. He looked up, and smiled Latvia.

"You can do the dishes," said Russia, stepping in between the two. "And Latvia can make me breakfast." He turned around again, a smile ever stained on his face, and looked down at the little cook in question. "Da?"

He was already leaving the room when Latvia was able to stutter an answer. The cold smell of winter flew into the trembling nation's face once again, and, as only was natural, he shivered. He walked over to Estonia now, pulling out a plastic bowl big enough for mixing, and he heard the large man sit down. He felt the Estonian's eyes on his back, but he didn't look up. Instead, he looked, through the open door, at what he could see of Russia, pulling out the ingredients needed for breakfast. He could see a pair of large feet lying casually on the chair opposite the man they belonged to. Folded hands rested on the surface of long, smooth, brown fabric. And he could see, resting delicately over the man's arms, gentle, white cloth that clung to an unseen neck. It caressed an unseen chin, and loved those unseen shoulders. Latvia had many times wanted to be in that scarfs place. He'd wanted to wrap his own arms around the man's neck, and be touched with such care, with such love.

"...Latvia!" There was a gentle smack on the back of his head, and the Latvian snapped out of it. "I'm talking to you, are you even paying attention?!"

"Ah, I'm sorry!"

Breakfast went by normally, aside from the occasional fumble that made the Russian smile with hidden irritation. Later on in the day, lunch went rather the same way. Lithuania left around noon, for work. Estonia, around two.

"I'll be back before you wake up tomorrow," he'd said. "Wait for me."

The Russian locked himself in his study all day. Conference calls, paperwork. From time to time he'd get up and have Latvia make him something to eat, at which the younger man would stumble to attention and try his very best at preparing something appropriate. But those instances were rare, and other than that, the day was quiet.

These days gave Latvia a chance to read.

One thing he loved dearly about living in the Russian's house was the large expanse of books. His caretaker wasn't particularly interested in reading any of them, so Latvia had salvaged them all. There were so many different kinds, fiction and non-fiction, heated dramas and ravishing mysteries. Latvia's favorite book that he'd ever read, in all of the shelves upon shelves of books, was a little, red, hard cover book. It was a simple enough story, the protagonist fights in a war, struggles for independence, and journeys to finding happiness and love. Two-hundred thirty-six pages, fourteen chapters, and all of it, every word of it, was loved. He wondered at them. The words. How the could be so stunningly gorgeous. Even awful, cruel words could accentuate a page and make it look utterly beautiful when strung together. There were times he tried to write like this, but that is something that is to be discussed very much later in this story.

After an afternoon of reading, the young nation was in a rather cheerful mood. He looked around, as he trotted downstairs, and was met with quite an unusual sight for a day like this. It sat sunken on the couch, bottle of vodka in hand. Its light hair was tousled on top of its head, which was drooping between its knees. And it didn't appear to be breathing.

Surprised, Latvia stopped. "...Mr. R-Russia?" he started.

There was no smile when the face looked up at him. Instead, there was a sad, pale face as a large hand connected with the couch cushion, gesturing him to take a seat.

"Will you sit with me, Latvia?" It said.

For a moment, there was no noise. There was no breath. There was no heartbeat, for a split second. Perhaps he would have hesitated. Maybe he would have tried to decline, and never sat with him at all. But it was as if all the tension of his days, the fatigue from all of his sleepless nights, finally took ahold of him. They pushed his legs forward, trembling, and walked him over to the couch. They sat him by the man who he held such affection for, and waited.

For a long time, nothing was said. Just a Russian, and a Latvian, sitting on a couch. If you'd been looking, you might have thought it was quite a funny scene.

Eventually, however, the gray haired man looked up with his lavender eyes, and spoke softly to him.

"You don't like me either, do you, Latvia?"

He dropped his head, his dishevled locks falling into his eyes as he closed them. His left hand holding tightly onto the bottle of open vodka, and his right resting gently next to Latvia on the couch. Questions were filling up in the little blonds head. What do I say in a situation like this? How do I respond without letting him know I'm in love with him?

How can I let him know I care, without risk?

Now, in life, people say there are things called 'defining moments'. But I disagree. I feel like what people consider 'defining moments' should really be considered 'moments of idiocracy that happened to work out'. Because in all honesty, that's what they are. They are moments when one is entirely taken away by the situation, so much so that they make a decision, or do something rash, without thinking any of it through. Something completely from the heart, that just happened to have a huge effect on the entirety of their life. It was at one of these moments Latvia found himself in. His hand seemed to move by itself, as it inched closer to Russia's. As if it heard the questions in his mind, and answered by slowly wrapping its fingers around the other's. Their hands interlocked, the Latvian heard his breath grow staggered. It grew more and more audible, until it turned into words. "I like you." he said. "I like you, Russia."

Who knows what would've happened had it been left like that? Who knows what was going to come out of the Russian's mouth as he brought his eyes up to meet Latvia's? Things might've gone a little faster, problems that are still to come may have been avoided. I, too, must express my disappointment at the situation. But unfortunately for the two of them, there was a silent woman standing nearby, and she chose this moment to make her own words.

"Oh, you do, now?" she said. "You like my brother?"

Latvia turned, and started to say something, but all too quickly there was a body thrown on top of him. He was pushed down to the ground, and barricaded there with arms. When the pale face of the man looked down at him, his heart stopped. His breath caught in his throat at the flawlessness of the Russian man's now intoxicatingly close features. His tousled hair, his gentle facets, and the piercing intensity of his eyes. All of it took his breath away, and he couldn't stop the tears from forming up in the corners of his eyes from the sudden experience. But the romantic scene quickly faded from in front of him as a loud, long, muffled noise came to his ears. Confused, he looked over to see the back of the couch, exactly where he'd been sitting, being split open... by nails.

"Brother..." said Belarus, her eyes ripping open Latvia's skin as much as her nails were the couch. "What are you... doing?"

Latvia began to tremble uncontrollably. His fear of the woman told him to cling to the Russian on top of him, but his fear of how the Russian would react kept him from doing so. The tears that had been building up fell down his face now, and they did not go unnoticed by the Russian man.

He looked down at him with a similar kind of fear in his eyes, and upon seeing the tears he closed his gaping mouth. His arms wrapped around the Latvian's waist and pulled him closer. "Wh-What are you-!" started Latvia, his face turning redder and his heart beating rapidly, but he was already being hoisted upright and pulled over a Russian shoulder. As he hurried off in the other direction, Russia didn't dare look back. He ran into his room, and locked the door.

"Go home!" he cried, hiding on the other side of the bed, with Latvia still in his arms. The door was rattled.

We'll never know how Latvia would have reacted, because unfortunately for the Latvian, he was quite passed out from the exciting, and terrifying, experience of it all. As Russia pulled the little Latvian into his arms, his eyes remained on the door, and when they finally rested on his sleeping face, they realized. Even in his sleep, a look of worry overtook him. And it didn't fail to worry the man holding him.

"...Latvia?"


	3. Chapter Two: Part One

And Its Result

When he woke up, there was breath.

On his skin, on his lips, flowing in a wave over his face.

It smelled heavily of vodka, and it was warm. Warmer than it should have been.

His eyes remained opened wide, staring at the sleeping, Russian face, inches from his own.

Latvia began to tremble as he realized the man was shirtless. The arms, folded around him, were searing hot against his skin through his clothes. He didn't dare drop his eyes, for if he did, he might have cried out. The breath, which he had listened to for so long, always longing to be close to it, was hot in his ears. It invaded inside of him, filling him up with its warmth and drawing him closer to the large, heaving chest of the one he adored. It made his heart pound in his ears, spreading euphoric ecstasy throughout his body so much it hurt. It grappled every nerve in him and moved his arms and his fingers forward, the course skin on the tips of them connecting with Russia's bare chest. He felt the warmth beneath them and he let out a small noise as he moved them further, touching, claiming what was in front of him. He couldn't help himself, he couldn't stop this want. His fingers spread, and he whimpered slightly as his finger collided with the pink, more sensitive skin of the Russian. He allowed his eyes to wander, further down the chiseled torso, peering at what might lie under the blanket. His gasping breath over took him, the blush on his face spreading to his ears. The only thing he could hear was the beating of his heart in his ears. He concentrated on was the flushed skin beneath his fingertips, and the slow, steady rising of the man's chest, as he breathed. A light thumping became more and more prominent, and with a whimper, Latvia finally realized what it was. He took several shaky breaths, and nearly burst into tears at feeling the warm, steady heartbeat of Russia. It beat in rhythm with his breath. His warm, heavy breath.

But, all too soon, a twitch from the older man stopped everything. Latvia's hands flew back to his face. His eyes widened and he snapped out of whatever trance he had been in. The breathing quieted, and the Russian made a small, groaning sound as he moved his head into the pillow. It was probably the trembling that woke him up, the feeling of a certain nation shaking the bed springs underneath him, quivering in his arms. He opened his purple eyes, and looked into Latvia.

And then he smiled.

"Go back to sleep," he said. "It's still early."

But the Latvian just lay there, shivering, his hands held defensively in front of his face. Russia smiled again, a light glimmer in his eyes, and he moved his arm down, planning on wrapping around Latvia's small waist. The younger squeaked as he did so, his lip quivering when Russia's large hand connected with the skin on his side, probably trying to speak. He looked anywhere but at the lavender eyes in front of him as he was pulled closer.

"Are you cold?" he asked.

Latvia shook his head, jolting.

"...Are you scared?"

After a moment, there was another, short, shake of the head.

Russia smiled again. "Then why are you shaking?"

There was no response. More like, it was physically impossible for him to respond. He was trembling too bad, his teeth chattering too hard in his mouth. If he'd tried to speak, surely no voice would have come out, and whatever had would have been impaired by the persistent shivering that seemed to never go away.

The gray-haired man slid closer to the other, looking at him curiously. His breath was awake now, the heaviness of it faded, but the warmth still present as it spread over Latvia's face. He was so close, unbearably close. His eyes slid into him, and moved down his spine, leaving a layer of slime and shivers down his back. "Latvia..." he started, and Latvia's heart thumped so loudly at hearing his name he could have sworn Russia was listening to it, as he tilted his head, laughing gently. He noticed the long lashes glance down, lips forming to say something. Heat began to eat Latvia's skin, every inch of him burning up. It grew, flaming with ever tremble, and flashed throughout his body when the Russian looked back up. Electricity built up inside of him, sending sparking tendrils throughout his body, which felt tremendously tight. The covers on top of him like the lid to a pot of boiling water, trapping them inside, and made him bubble hotter with every passing minute. As Russia moved his hand slowly upwards again, beginning to speak, it was so, very, _hot._

But he wouldn't get the chance to talk, once again, as they were interrupted for a second time. This time, however, it was a lean man who interrupted them, by opening the door.

"Russia, it-" Lithuania started, but his words were stolen from his mouth by the scene in front of him.

From his point of view, it looked very, very bad.

The Russian, holding the Latvian close to himself, turned his pale face towards the door. With an irritated breath, he raised a hand to dismiss the offending man. "Da, I know, I'll be up..." he sighed.

Lithuania didn't move. It was quite an unexpected sight to see the Russian draped over the little nation like that in bed. The trembling one in question turned to look at Lithuania in the doorway, his face redder than crimson. He opened his mouth, gaping like a fish, but, not surprisingly, nothing escaped. Russia wound his arms tighter around him, causing him to let out a noise similar to a squeak. Lithuania almost started forward at the noise. Russia looked at him, holding Latvia possessively, as if to challenge him.

"Is there something you need, Liet?" he asked, his smile ever present.

No response.

"My, you Baltics sure are quiet this morning, da?"

He grinned, flashing teeth white as the snow in his home. He stared at Lithuania for a long moment, who stared straight back into those lavender eyes. And slowly, deliberately, he dropped his head to the Latvian in his arms. His lips purposefully met with the younger one's forehead, kissing him gently. Latvia stopped breathing, and he began to feel very dizzy. He wondered if he was going to pass out again, as the shudder that ran down his spine made him feel very light headed. His heart pounded against his chest, trying to make him call out, trying to force his arms around the Russian, or move his lips to meet the ones at his forehead. But he couldn't. He was paralyzed, his breath gone, and his body taken from him.

It was Lithuania who brought him out of it. "Russia!" he shouted, stepping towards the two. "You can't take advantage of him like that!" His face was strong, and bold, but also lined with a trace of fear. He reached a hand out, hesitant for a split second, before ripping the covers away from them. A barren Russian body was revealed, and the cold air shocked the Latvian, grasping his body in its cold, icy fingers, and clinging to him.

It was felt before it was seen. The anger. It coursed through the room, cold enough to freeze over Siberia itself. "Who said I was taking advantage of him?" it asked. "Did Latvia say that?"

"Russia." Lithuania's voice quivered, but he tried to sound strong. "You-"

"Nyet," he interrupted. Russian eyes looked down at the Latvian in his arms. The Latvian tried to close them, to look away, but he was caught. "Latvia likes me, da?"

The blond's mouth went dry. Air seeped through his skin, chilling his bones. He felt his blood course through his veins, carrying ice throughout all of his body.

He'd shown it. He'd revealed his crush. Russia knew. He racked his brain for what gave him away before today, and he remembered his words on the couch, holding the Russian's hands. Was that it? Oh, God, what had he done?

But... what did _this _mean? Waking up in the bed next to him, a hug, a kiss, a smile? It was impossible for the Russian to like him back... Impossible... So what did it all mean?

Was he toying with him?

Before he could think anymore, a new set of arms was around him, pulling him out of the bed by the collar of his shirt. It was probably at this moment that he realized he was wearing different clothes than he'd been wearing last night, a fact which might have made his face redden even more and his heart fantasize, if he had been given a chance to think.

"N-No!" stuttered the Lithuanian, sternly. Latvia sat on the ground at his feet, petrified in place. "Get up," he continued, speaking to the man on the bed. "It's... It's time for breakfast."

Russia sat upright, looking at him with half-shut eyes. They bore into him, intimidating him, taking hold of his determination, and tearing it down. Until finally, he looked down at the little blond. When their eyes met, the blond turned away quickly, trembling a bit, and he could have sworn he heard a light laugh.

"Da, I will get up..." he said, "But today, Latvia is going to dress me."

His heart skipped a beat.

"No, Russia." The younger couldn't deny the disappointment he felt when the Lithuanian spoke. But at the same time, he knew he should have been relieved. "You will dress yourself, or if you must, _I _will dress you."

With a frown, the gray-haired man stood up. He was dressed in nothing but a pair of boxer shorts, and the sight of his towering, perfect body, one that was constantly masked beneath a heavy coat, was overwhelming. A subtle gasp escaped his lips, and he tried to cover it up as he looked away quickly, fiddling with his hands. He felt the Russian's eyes all over him, trying to get his attention, and waiting for him to look up. But he didn't. With a sigh, the Russian turned away from them. "Very well." he said, anger hidden in his tone, and waved his hand for them to leave.

Lithuania quickly pulled Latvia out of the room, shaking all the way. Latvia complied, reluctantly, but quiet about it. He silently remarked about the state of the doorknob, which was in shambles at this point.

"Latvia, what- what the _hell_ happened?!" the older asked frantically, when they had left the room and gotten a safe distance away.

There was a pause. Latvia's heart felt like a rubber band that you'd stretched as far as you could, and then snapped it back into place. Hot, and soft, and loose. His face was still painted pink, as he slowly began to regulate his breathing. Maybe he was still dreaming. Maybe that's what this was. He felt light-headed, and out of place. But the feeling of Russia's arms around him from just a few moments ago was far too real for it to be. He thought for a while, as Lithuania waited for an answer to his question. Russia would get up soon. The day had barely started, and there was still so much to do. So much to happen.

"...I have no idea." he replied, as a door began to creak open.


	4. Happy Thanksgiving!

_Author's Note: Well, since it is Thanksgiving, I thought It'd be nice to do a little excerpt for this week. Happy Thanksgiving, America!_

* * *

"I thought it would be nice," said Russia, "To have a big meal tonight. America is making his family... We are family, da?"

His jealousy of the American was clear as he spoke to Estonia, who adjusted his glasses with one finger, closing his eyes. "Am I required to come?" he asked, trying not to tremble.

"...I don't care," replied the larger of the two. Estonia sighed, genuinely relieved. Yet, that relief lasted only for a brief moment. "But... Latvia will. So you will come." he continued. He strode by the other in one swift, large step, not waiting for a response.

Estonia opened his eyes.

Latvia? "R-Russia-!" he started, turning towards the man as he walked away.

Russia turned back to him. "Hmm?"

The smaller man paused, closing his mouth and trembling. Normally he was good with saying the right thing, but the comment worried him. "Wh... What do you mean by that?" he asked.

Russia smiled. "I want Latvia to be happy."

"Wh-Why?!" It couldn't be what he was thinking. He tried to deny it, but it was ever too late.

The Russian grin grew. "Because I like Latvia."

As he turned away, the heart of Estonia slumped to the ground. It's hands flew to its face and it cried, for itself, for Latvia. It feared the worst, the very worst. But Estonia stood there. Numb. Unmoving.

Russia's affection. Russia's _obsession._

This could only bring bad things, right? Nothing good can come out of this, he was thinking.

And he was halfway right.


	5. Chapter Two: Part Two

And it's result

A Russian entered the kitchen.

Like every morning, he could feel when it happened. But this morning, the shaking was stronger. The nervous air was a bit thicker, as Russia sliced through it like a knife through butter. And, somehow, the fear was even more clear than normal, because this time, there was hope.

This time, he was putting away the silverware. He had again remarked on the temperature. How warm the freshly cleaned ones were, and how cold, and hard were the ones in the drawer. He fingered a warm knife in his hand, and as the Russian walked by, it almost seemed to grow warmer. But the man walked right past him, and his fingers collided with the cold, hard knives that matched in the drawer. He frowned, knowing that soon the knife he put away would be just as cold. He listened to the one he adored walking around, a feeling of disappointment and loss draping over him. He wasn't going to say anything. Of course not, why would he? He'd gotten his hopes up, and had them dashed away once again. It took everything he had not to cry, right there. Even from something so trivial. Something as minuscule as not being acknowledged. He wanted to turn around, to cry in Russia's arms, to be embraced by his loving warmth, but he didn't. He couldn't. He could only stand there, and listen to the sound of the man he adored getting himself breakfast.

It wasn't until a pair of large, unexpected arms wrapped around him that he stopped. They swooped in, grasping the Latvian in one large step, and he was consumed by the smell of Russia for the second time that morning. One of them had a clean cup in its hand, and it reached up to put it away. "I can help you, Latvia." he said, as he wound his arm back around the Latvian waist after placing the dish.

Latvia would have been shaking, had he been able to feel anything. He went numb, as he realized what was happening. He thought of the little book in the library that he loved to read, and the moment in it where the protagonist felt as if they were dreaming. He'd always just read it, never quite understanding it but not realizing that he didn't. Until this moment. For a moment, Latvia thought he honestly must be dreaming. With the feeling of arms folded around him, he tried to ignore the heat of his body growing hotter, and hotter again. Coherent thoughts through his brain, but none of them stayed. He couldn't think, he could only feel the strong arms, and a body pressing slowly up against him. A heavy body, a tall and lean one. He realized that his heart was beating so fast it sent the blood in and out of his brain before he could grasp onto a thought. Right now, Russia was speaking, Russia was saying something. He tried very hard to concentrate on his voice, to get out of this hypnotic trance. But he was so very hot, and the arms felt so very nice. The Russian's face drew closer, and the breath was invading into his ears as he spoke.

As if he was slapped across the face, his senses snapped back into place. He began to shiver, trembling in Russia's arms. "Latvia?" he heard the man ask quietly, and tears began to slip from his eyes at the sound of the beautiful voice calling his name. Oh, how he didn't want to cry. He wanted to turn around and find his home amidst that flowing, heavy jacket. He didn't want Russia to think he was afraid of him, or that he hated him, or that he wanted him to move. But despite his resistance, the tears continued to fall, and his face wretched as he let out a whimper. It was too much. It was simply too much. His chest was tight, stretching, causing his whole body to shiver with a painful, gleeful emotion. Standing there, his heart hurt.

Russia sighed, and started to pull away. "Ah, sorry..."

"No!" Latvia cried, turning around to face Russia as the tears continued to stream. Normally, he couldn't speak a full sentence to the Russian without stuttering because of his nerves. But the absolute dread of the loss of his arms caused him to outburst, and now he looked up at the lavender eyes of his love.

Teeth whiter than snow gleamed back at him. "Hmm?"

The arms were back around him, but this time he was facing the body they belonged to. Leaning in, Russia smiled, and studied the smaller one's face.

Latvia began to shiver so hard his teeth chattered, and Russia could barely hold him upright in his arms. "Latvia, why are you shaking?" asked Russia, "Can't you stop shaking?" More tears fell from his eyes at the sound of his voice, and Russia's warm arms wrapped tighter around the small blond's waist. Russia was so close, so very close, close enough to touch. If he'd wanted to, he could have stepped up on his tiptoes and pressed his lips to the Russian's own forbidden lips, ones that he had been longing to touch for so very long. But he couldn't move, even if he'd wanted to. He could only tremble in the caring arms. "Latvia... stop shaking." Concern and sadness shadowed his voice as he moved a large hand to brush against the other's cheek.

Latvia complied, he stopped shaking. But not consciously.

In fact, he lost all consciousness.

Again.

Now, this is one of the very rare instances where I can tell you just what was in the mysterious Russian's head as the fragile young man in his arms passed out. It's been written down. It's been documented. And it is, quite often for a memory, reflected upon.

He looked down at the Latvian, who had quickly lost his look of worry and trembles along with his consciousness. "He stopped shaking..." the Russian mused, as he smiled at the peaceful sleeper. His face was blemishless, and flushed. Even in his sleep, the ever-present pink that dusted his cheeks remained. Russia's hand caressed its way around the blush, and he pulled the sleeping Latvian closer.

The door to the kitchen opened, and in trodded Estonia. His eyes were not happy to meet what they did. "Latvia!" he cried, overcome with astonishment. Not long after he did, did a worried Lithuanian enter the room, and had much the same reaction.

Always jumping to conclusions, always thinking the worst. No one trusts Russia, because he's always evil, right?

All of this commotion was buzzing in his ears as he carried the smaller blond out of the room. He brushed past the other bodies, and made his way upstairs. Perhaps they followed him, pleading for the younger one to be released. He thought of his breakfast for a moment, and then of the dishes that had been neglected. But those things merely flashed through his mind as he cradled the smaller nation. They didn't matter. All that mattered was the young man in his arms. He took care to not bump him against anything as he entered Latvia's bedroom. The pillow brushed the back of his head, and his hair ruffled as Russia set him down.

I mustn't scare him, he was thinking.

He hung Latvia's red jacket on the door knob on his way out, smiling back at him.

I mustn't scare him.

An hour hadn't passed before Latvia woke up again. He shot upright, and confusion blurred his mind. Why was it so late? The sun was far over his head in the sky, had Lithuania forgotten to wake him up? Without another thought he stood, getting out of his bed, but rising too quickly. Dizziness throbbed in his head. As he placed a hand on his head to stop the pain that followed, realization crept slowly into his brain. His eyes opened wide, and his hand flew from his head to his mouth, one word resonating within him.

Russia.

For a brief, fleeting moment, he felt like running down the stairs, finding the Russian and his lavender eyes. He'd rush up him, and perhaps he would be embraced. Maybe he'd get to see that rare, genuine smile. His warm, loving embrace, it was better than he'd ever imagined. It felt so irresistibly good he only wanted to be caught in it again. And at the thought that he might be able to, he laughed a bit, hope filling up inside of him. But after a moment, anxiety took its place, with the thought of his first words. It clouded over his moment of euphoria, and drowned it in reality. What would he say when he saw him? What could he say?

Sounds of clinking dishes downstairs interrupted his thoughts, and the temperature of his face rose. He was going to see the man, that much was unavoidable. He noticed his coat, one that he always wore, resting on his bedroom door. He picked it up, and held it in his hands delicately. Had Russia possibly... taken it off of him? He swallowed. He had so many questions he wanted answers to, but how was he supposed to ask them? As he reached for the doorknob that would lead him out of his bedroom, panic began to rise in his chest. What was actually going to be said? What if Russia was really just toying with him? More importantly, what was going to happen now?

What was Russia going to do?

With these questions flying through his mind, the small nation opened the door and took his first steps outside. They were shaky, and he checked around the corner for sign of another presence. From the other room, Lithuania could be heard talking on the phone. The sound of a fork stabbing at its plate was audible from where he stood, and he slowly walked over to the staircase. He walked past the room with the older Baltic in it, and saw him look up, yet he didn't meet his eyes. He remained concentrated on putting one foot forward at a time, and continuing to breathe. These tasks got harder and harder as he loomed closer to the staircase.

"Feliks," said Lithuania, as the Latvian crossed the entryway. "I have to go... Y-Yes, I know... No, I did like the shirt Po- No, it's not that- Feliks, I love you, but I have to go." Frowning, he hung up the phone, and rushed out the door in time to see Latvia start to make his way down the stairs. He was drawn, his hand clasped over his mouth, wearing a look of fear and simple curiosity. No matter how much the eldest Baltic worried for his friend, there was still nothing that he could do to avoid the inevitable.

Estonia was fixing tea, while Russia ate.

Lithuania was making his way down the stairs.

And Latvia was making his way over to the inevitable.


	6. Chapter Three

Infection

When he walked over to the table, Russia looked up. He smiled. He watched Latvia, the plate in front of him still full of fresh food barely touched. As Latvia drew closer, he could smell the strong aroma of blini drifting through the room. Lithuania's feet hit the ground with a loud stomp as he reached the bottom of the stairs, but it was Estonia who had made his way over to the youngest of them first.

"Latvia," he said, grabbing his thin arm and attempting to pull him from the path to the Russian. "... Help me make tea, if you're awake."

The young man faltered, looking at the one who spoke. He nodded. The feeling of Russia's eyes prodding at his back was unnerving. They tried to pull him around to face the other man. Or perhaps they didn't want him to turn. Maybe he was just trying to make something out of nothing, getting his hopes up only to be disappointed once again, with no one but himself to blame. He turned to face the gray-haired man once more, and studied his eyes, trying to figure out whether the lavender in them was tinted with toying malice. Was he playing with him? He couldn't tell, as Russia smiled back at him.

"Latvia!"

At the sound of his name, Latvia briskly turned to help him with the tea, trying to forget Russia. A futile effort. Movements stiff, he walked over, trying not to be aware of the many eyes watching him. He poured the water and placed a tea bag in the steaming cup. Looking through his glasses, Estonia watched him with a frown as he held the tea cup steady. The tea gradually began to fog up the clean, clear water. It spread slowly, its tendrils multiplying throughout the pristine liquid, clouding it until it was barely visible. Latvia paused for a moment at the little scene he so often ignored. It was almost pretty, as the tea reached its hands up and dirtied the water, moving slower and slower as it did so. A brisk stir from the Estonian, however, managed to blend it all together, interrupting the Latvian's thoughts. He looked up.

The lavender eyes still resonated through his mind. They infected his mind like the tea spread throughout the water, waiting to be stirred with a brisk hand and take the entire thing for themselves. Looking back, as he picked up the fragile tea-cup, he felt like he finally might have pinpointed the emotion that was reflected in them.

They were curious.

"Y-Your tea..." he said, setting down the tea in front of him. Estonia stood behind them, purposefully close, trembling a bit as he watched the two. Lithuania stood by the stairs, waiting to intervene if anything went wrong. Trying not to tremble, the young man faltered as he glanced upwards and caught another gaze from Russia.

"Spasibo." he replied.

He couldn't help himself from asking. "I-Is there anything else you need?"

"L-Latvia, help me clean up in th-"

"Da."

Estonia clutched the tray in his hands a bit tighter, almost speaking up in protest as Latvia met the man's gaze, worried for him.

"Wh-What do you need... R-Russia, sir?"

"My food."

Latvia blinked. "Y-Your food is there..."

"Da. Feed it to me."

His face flushed immediately, and he took a sharp breath. The way he looked at him sent a different kind of shiver down his back. Feed him? The prospect of it scared him, but at the same time, tempted him greatly. However, a few feet away, Estonia had had quite enough. "Latvia," he said, moving to pull him away from the larger man. "Come to the kitchen, now."

Estonia avoided the lavender eyes as he pulled Latvia away. An act of defiance against Russia was not taken lightly, by any of the Baltics. Even though his superior did not seem provoked by the action, Estonia still took several shaky breaths as he practically dragged Latvia into the kitchen, feeling Russia's eyes on his back as he went. "Latvia..." called a voice lightly behind them, but the door was already swinging shut.

"Are you alright?" fretted the Estonian, his hands upon the littler's face, checking to find the origins of the blush. "Do you feel faint? I'm so sorry, that must have frightened you..!"

The blond shook his head, dazed, his thoughts lingering on the feeling of purple eyes upon him. "No, I'm fine..." he breathed, pulling away slightly. A small smile was plain on his flushed lips. Estonia stared at the hazy look in younger's eyes.

Immediately, he realized.

A look of fear crossed his face.

"Latvia, what are you doing..?!" he asked incredulously, his arms moving to grip gently around his delicate arms, as if to shake him.

"Wh-What?" said Latvia, slowly coming out of his thoughts.

The other young man closed his eyes, and adjusted his glasses. "That's Russia... Y-You know that, right?"

"What... do you mean?" His nerves made him start to tremble again. Just what exactly was he getting at?

"... Latvia, I know... I mean, he is dangerous, and..." The Estonian struggled for words, staring hard down at the younger man, his hands gripping his shoulders.

"What are you talking about, E-Estonia?"

There was a pause.

No one said anything. Latvia felt his heart beat in his chest, waiting in suspense for the next words. If he had indeed realized, how would he react? Latvia didn't want the older Baltic to be upset with him, or to be ashamed of him.

Estonia, however, was not upset with him at all. When he finally spoke, it was not words of anger that would hurt Latvia.

"... H-He'll never love you, you know..."

What leftover excitement there had been, was gone. For a moment, he was wiped clean of everything. No happiness, nor sadness, nor anger or fright. But then it slowly sunk in. It was as if someone had pulled the rug out from under his feet as his legs began to quiver, and the words took hold of him. He felt as if he was falling. "Wh-What makes you..." he started." s-say that? Why would I... Why..."

All breath escaped him. He tried to speak, but words would not come to him. Reason would not come to him as tears filled his eyes. All that was left was the hope fading away, mercilessly, slipping from his hopeful hands. He turned away from Estonia. The lavender eyes, which had seemed so sweet when he had looked at him before, invaded his thoughts. They violated him, making him ache further as they could not be his, they would never be for him. The love in them was false, the words in them were not words of love, but of anguish and pain. This was his fault... he was the one who'd gotten his hopes up. There was no one but himself to blame. "Of course I know that." he said, finally. The words were quiet, and weak, but they were there. "Of course..." They left him, without another thought, telling him that it was true. That every word of it was true.

He hated that he was such a crybaby. His joints ached, his eyes burned his face, and most of all his heart felt emptied. Depleted. Through the throbbing pain in his throat he somehow managed to walk forward, though, even as the tears began to fall. Part of him hoped that Estonia did not see, that his friend wouldn't notice the searing tears, but the overwhelming majority of him began to numb. Like with a broken bone, when one's body begins to shut off that area to try and protect itself from pain, Latvia felt all of his insecurities and doubts drape over the pain. They shielded him from it, but some of it still slipped through. The numbness prevented him from registering the words Estonia was speaking behind him. But the pain contorted his face, forcing him to bite his lip in order to keep the broken sobs down in his chest, where they bundled up, and radiated pain with a burning heat. His legs felt loose, as if they were about to give out under the growing heavy burden of the pain above them. But he knew they wouldn't. It was far past that point as he walked away from Estonia. He made his way up the stairs, and eventually, into the library.

It seemed dull. Bland. He walked over to the shelves he knew so well, and the books were quiet. They didn't speak, or judge. They smelled of nothing but Russia, and as he cried, their eyes were watching, and pitying the young man. But they didn't judge. For hours, and hours, they would never judge.


	7. Chapter Four

An Oxymoron

He heard the noise downstairs of entering guests. Ukraine, and Belarus, and Poland managing to be late as always.

"Big brother, I'm home~!"

"Ah, B-Belarus... Russia is in his stu-"

"Out of my way."

"M-Miss Bela, if you'd like, you could sit with me until-"

"BROTHER~!"

"Bela, please stop! This should be a nice, family dinner! Oh...!"

"U-Ukraine! Please, don't cry..!"

For a while, it normally went on like that, until either someone got hurt, or Poland arrived. And normally if you weren't in the room, you couldn't tell the difference.

He was grateful Estonia had not bothered him after their words in the kitchen, because he wanted to clear his mind of any painful thoughts. He didn't want to dwell on the pain and make himself cry anymore. Occasionally, he'd look up from his book, and listen to the commotion downstairs. He even pondered going down and joining them. But every time he stood to go, a crippling anxiety would overcome him, the thought of Russia, of humiliation, and pain. It would make him sit down once more, and open to the same page he'd been trying to read for the past thirty minutes. Every once in a while, his eyes would begin to blur with salt water for a brief moment, making it difficult to read. But he'd keep trying to read on, until eventually the moment passed, and the words on the page began to come into view again.

It wasn't until the door to the library quietly opened that he finally stopped trying to read his book. His heart stopped as he heard large footsteps hurry into the room. And he began to panic.

He was hidden where he was, but if he so pleased, he could have easily gazed out through the bare spot in front of him to spy on the one who had disturbed his peace. However, his beating heart glued him in place, not even allowing a single shiver. His eyes closed tight, and he listened to the muffled footsteps find their way across the room. As he heard the unmistakable heavy breathing, his own breath accelerated. The intruder grew closer, his boots climbing the stairs to the second level, hitting each step with a crooked stomp. Through his shut eyes, every little noise sounded like it was a foot away from him, and the faster the distance was closed, the smaller that foot felt. A shadow cross over his face. Was he on the other side of the shelf, now? Had he seen him? His anxiety grew, and he felt as if he was about to have a heart attack. What could he do? What was he supposed to do? A figure strode to his side of the bookshelf. If he was turned in the direction, he could see him..! Was he looking at him?! Latvia clung to his book, holding it close to his pounding chest that he was sure this person could hear now, and he clenched his teeth shut as tight as he closed his eyes so as not to utter a noise. The figure loomed closer, and the smell of winter overwhelmed him. His petrified body felt as if it was about to give as footsteps walked in his direction, but some unknown force sealed every single nerve in his body still, like cement. He could feel the body now, moving and disturbing the air around him. He heard the pop of a large man's knees and his heart skipped more than one beat as Russia sat down beside him.

"Good hiding place." said a sweetly quiet voice.

Hesitantly, slowly, Latvia opened his eyes. Any doubt he had as to the owner of the voice faded away as he saw the object of his affection squatting less than a foot from him. His purple eyes were turned away from him, but it didn't matter. The pale face in front of him was enough for him to want to burst into tears. Russia looked around the library, from the viewpoint of the smaller one, at the shelves upon shelves of books he kept in his house, until finally he gazed at the young one in question. He frowned.

"Why do you cry?" he asked, his hands moving to touch Latvia's face on instinct. Latvia flinched, falling back, and the tall man pulled away slightly. He paused. "... Do I... Do I scare you?" he asked.

It almost sounded as if he cared.

Russia opened his mouth to say something again, but was interrupted as the library doors burst open. His already pale face miraculously grew paler, fear crossing it.

"Brother..."

Without another word, Russia picked up the crying Latvian, pulling him close. Latvia's face went directly into the wide chest. His tears froze in their place, and his body reacted on its own, clinging to Russia. Russia clung back, his arms winding tight around him, squeezing the little one. Immediately, Latvia began to tremble, and for once, Russia trembled with him. His brain couldn't even function properly enough to think. The blood was pumping too fast from his beating heart as he was pressed tightly against his superior's robust body.

"Brother~ I know you're here... come out, big brother! We have much to discuss!" Belarus walked around the library, searching behind every bookshelf for her sibling. "I left last night, like you asked me too, but you promised to discuss our marriage today... Where have you GONE?!"

At the screech of the last word, Russia looked down at him. "What do we do?!" he mouthed frantically, his normally inexpressive face wrought with terror.

Even if Latvia could have said anything, he probably wouldn't have had an answer.

Belarus moved her attention to the second level with a turn that almost creaked. "Can you hear me brother? Come out... COME OUT."

The pair on the upper level watched with petrified fear as the younger sibling stepped towards the stairs. She gripped the railing in her tight grasp. The sound of her palm dragging against the wooden rail caused the normally calm Russian to shake violently, and it sent sparks of fear racing down Latvia's spine. This was a different kind of fear than when Russia was searching the library. This was a fear for his life if they were discovered. If he wasn't killed, he'd certainly be hurt, or worse...

It was as if she could smell them, the way Belarus walked in the direction of the place they were hidden. Russia's grip tightened around Latvia, and Latvia's own did the same in response. If he had not been so terrified, he probably would have been blissful. He felt his heart sink to the bottom of his stomach, watching in terror as the girl turn towards them, practically looking at them.

Just as the woman was about to discover their hiding place, though, an unexpected savior walked in.

"M-Miss Belarus?" said a tentative voice. "C-Could you please come down?"

Belarus turned sharply towards Lithuania, looking towards him with fierce eyes. "What?!" she growled.

Walk away, walk away!

"R-Russia told me to have you come downstairs until-"

"What?" she interrupted. She quickly walked towards the rail, go down! Go talk with Lithuania! "What do you mean? Is brother downstairs?!"

Without the chance to let him answer, she started her way to the lower level and Russia and Latvia breathed a simultaneous, and silent, sigh of relief.

"N-No- Well, maybe, but he told me earlier to have you stay- until dinner that is, with me-!"

"Where is he?!" she cried, rushing over to him. The sight of the woman walking away washed relief over Latvia. For a moment, that is.

"W-Well-"

"LIET~" From where they were, a very audible Poland could be heard jumping on the brunette who had saved them, jeopardizing the very safety they thought had been secured, without even knowing it. "Don't be so, like, lame. I mean, like, let her look for her brother and come to dinner."

Internally, Latvia cursed Poland.

He was sure Russia did too.

"Where is my brother?!" she asked, growing impatient with the two.

"P-Poland, please..!"

"Hah?! Lieeeet..." Even without seeing him, the pout was present in his voice.

"Augh, get out of my way!" She brushed past the two at that, making her way into the hallway in pursuit of her brother. Lithuania followed after her, stuttering along the way as Poland clung to his back. Even when the door to the library clicked shut, the two upstairs did not move a muscle. Minutes wore on. Neither dared to speak, as time passed, even as the distinct sound of Belarus breaking something in the house, far away, came to them. Perhaps it wasn't that they didn't speak, but rather, they couldn't. In fact, it wasn't until Latvia's rapid heart began to calm down that he fully realized where he was.

Alone, with Russia.

In his arms. His arms.

They held him so gently it was criminal. Careful not to hurt the little one, it seemed, propping him up and bringing him in to the loving warmth he so longed for. He hated to think it, but feeling them around him, it was as if they were always meant to be there. Strong. Holding him close.

Abruptly, the trembling began. He didn't know why, in fact, he never knew, but some part of being close to the Russian racked his heart with shivers. It started out almost unnoticeable, but gradually, the shaking caused Russia to break his trance and look down at the young one.

"It's okay..." He spoke it so kindly. Once again, the tears filled up in his eyes. Was it okay to think he cared for him, in this position? Latvia wanted to, so badly. He longed to believe it was alright to seek Russia's love. But the words nagged at the back of his mind.

He'll never love you, you know. They repeated. And he embraced them.

"She's gone," Russia comforted again, pulling his face to look at his own. The sensation of his heart rising and falling with every little motion pained Latvia greatly. He was crying, against the broad, Russian chest. His fingers moved up to squeeze at his shirt, as he struggled to hold back the sobs. It felt so nice, lying against him, that he couldn't leave. Even if it made him cry.

His thoughts were dulled, unable to connect them. Was the prospect of pain worth this? He tried to think of it, to pull himself away, but he couldn't. He was weighed down by the sweet smell of the Russian, the warmth of his body, the soothing tone of his voice. It all intoxicated him, blurring any reason. The only thing he could focus on was Russia. Holding him, and being held in return. It felt so nice, that it started to clean away any pain. The tears on his face still fell, but instead of pain, they were tears of relief. He was finally relieved. Being in the arms of the man he loved eased away any strife, any doubt, any thought he didn't want to think of. Instead, his heart pounded at a new rhythm. It sped up. The words, desperate to stay, clung to him. But he didn't cling back, as a large hand brushed his hair. Instead, he held the Russian, the large, warm body. It didn't leave him. And through the heavy clothing, making its way to Latvia's ears, a very faint, yet very distinct, thumping could be heard.

Russia looked around, hoping for some unseen force to help him. This man was unused to comforting people, or being asked for comfort. His eyes spotted their savior, and Latvia felt his arm reach out for something. It wasn't until until a hard surface was placed against Latvia's back, though, that he finally looked up at the Russian, his tears still streaming.

Russia tried to smile, awkwardly, holding the book out. Latvia looked at it, and wiped his face.

"Read to me..." he said, quietly. Latvia looked back up at him, mouth agape. "Can you?" he asked.

After a moment, Latvia nodded. "J-Ja, I can, b-but..." His trembling made it hard to speak.

"... Please?"

The syllable uttered by Russia forced the younger one to pause, his crying almost stopped. It was unusual, for him to say something so... Not demanding. Almost kind.

Latvia took the book. His book. "It's not th-the kind of book you'd... you'd like..." he said, looking down at it. He rubbed the cover with his thumbs, looking at it, and his voice grew quieter as he spoke.

"Just read it, da?" replied Russia. His eyes glimmered with a smile, and he looked down at the other. Latvia looked back at him, and thought about speaking up in protest. He already stuttered enough, reading aloud would be difficult, not to mention nerve-wracking. Also, they were his own books! If he hadn't read them already, he could read them himself, anytime he wanted... But something about the way the lavender eyes looked at him made him pause. He hesitated, looking down at his book again. There was something about Russia that he couldn't refuse. It wasn't fear, or anything like that. Nor was it hope, really. But as he thumbed the pages in his hands, his heart, his gut, his whole body told him to open it. His natural instinct.

Quietly, Latvia opened the book to the first page.

"A-Ah, u-um... Chapter One."


	8. Chapter Five

Romance Novels

* * *

He was just starting chapter five when he heard the snoring.

During the time, he'd gotten used to reading out loud. Quite comfortable with it, in fact. But the noise brought him out of his trance, and he looked over, blinking at the sleeping man. Had he... bored him to sleep?

Romance novels must not be for everyone.

Still, for a long time, he just kept reading. Perhaps if he kept reading, Russia would awake. But after a while of the consistent snoring, he knew it was useless, and looked up again. He quietly closed the book. The yellow light poured in through the holes in the bookshelves, casting a faint glow over Russia's rising chest. In an out, the breaths heaved. He looked simply serene, sleeping there. Peaceful.

Latvia heard the sound of a commotion from the entrance of the house. It often went like that, whenever Belarus was invited. But, as he placed the little red book back where it belonged, he knew that it wouldn't be enough. Russia must always, at the very least, make an appearance to get _her_ to leave.

He brooded over the difficult task of rousing him. What if he was mad? He'd never harmed Latvia before, but the thought of waking an irritable Russian was not one most people could face with ease. However, his time to think about this slipped from him, as, slowly, Russia's head began to slump. His body tilted against the wall, and a his coat made a long, sliding noise as it rubbed up against it. On instinct, Latvia reached his arms out to catch him. But he immediately regretted it. Russia was a heavy person to even the strongest of nations (Though, Latvia is probably much stronger than you would guess). As he fell, the only thing the younger man could manage to do was slow, and cushion the fall... with his own body.

"R-Russia...!" He managed to stutter, not wanting to think of how pathetic he looked, pinned beneath the large body. His snores made it obvious he hadn't noticed the fall at all, and Latvia made another small noise. His elbow, wedged in an uncomfortable position, pressed against his stomach. "P-Please w-wake up...!"

With a final, wriggling tug, he managed to free an arm, and the resulting position... comfortable. While heavy, Russia's weight was tolerable, perhaps even warm. "S-Sir?" he asked, a little louder. A flush came to his face, and there was a start from the gray haired man. Latvia blinked, immediately clamping his mouth shut, half of him hoping that Russia would wake, but the other half dreading his reaction.

"Mn... hm..?" he murmured some, snuggling into his shoulder a bit.

His face turned a gentle shade of red. "Russia," He cautiously reached up and shook his shoulder. "... Sir?"

Russia's black gloves made a sliding sound against the ground as they slid beneath the Latvian's trembling body, wrapping his arms around him tightly. He inhaled, taking in the tiny blond's unique scent, his nose pressing against Latvia's chest. "Da..?" he murmured quietly, adjusting himself to be comfortable. It was at this moment that Latvia realized his superior's body rested in between his legs, now breathing quietly on top of him. He let out a small squeak.

"What was that?" the tired man chuckled, and what felt like cold lips pressed against Latvia's shoulder.

"R-Russ-ah! E-Er, c-could...!" A muffled laugh rang out in Latvia's ears, and he felt it against his chest. "Russia...!" He squeezed his eyes shut, sure his face was as red as his uniform by now. He stuttered some more, incoherent, Latvian babble, and his breath accelerated, nearing the point of hyperventilation.

When he realized this, Russia looked up. "Don't." he said, lightly, moving to loom over Latvia's trembling body. From underneath, he seemed so endlessly large, so powerful, entirely blocking any means of escape. But the words that came out of his mouth clashed with the image. "Don't be scared of me..." he said, with kind words; with vulnerable words. They caused Latvia to pause. Looking up at the purple eyes, his trembling hesitated, if only for a moment. Russia leaned in closer, "I won't hurt you," he breathed. The Latvian wanted to shake his head, to tell him that wasn't what he was afraid of. But any movement to speak up that had gone to Latvia's mind disappeared as a pair of lips, warmer than they should be, lightly brushed against his own.

"Latvia..." Russia murmured, before kissing the tiny one gently.

And Latvia's trembling stopped.

His movements paused. His heartbeat jumped erratically. The only thing that moved were his eyes, widening for a moment as tears pooled in the corners of them, before drifting nearly shut. In the moment, he couldn't quite wrap his head around what was happening. It was on instinct that his lips reacted, scarcely parting with a barely audible whimper. And the action was not ignored by his Russian partner, as a heavy breath fell against the soft, sweet lips which quivered in response. As Russia's gloved hand slid up Latvia's thin waist it made him shiver with something other than fear, the nerves bristling against the smooth, leather fabric and sending a warm jolt down to a place that made Latvia whimper again. This time, though, there was a sound in response. It was less of a whimper, and more of a possessive growl. It came from Russia's throat, as his lips encouraged Latvia's to widen. And just as something soft, and moist came into brushing contact with the tiny opening that Latvia left

the trembling man turned his face, with a gasp. His eyes squeezed shut, and his arms (which had found their way around Russia's chest in the moment of passion) clung tighter to Russia.

The man on top of him frowned. After a brief moment, he sighed, attempting to pull away. "... I'm sorry," he said, watching Latvia's face. "... I should not have scared you like that."

But despite his attempts to move from him, Latvia's arms clung still, and he buried his face in the broad expanse of his chest. "... R-Russia...!" he stuttered, his heart beating so fast that he could barely hear anything else except for the loud drumming in his ears. But as his face burrowed, it became gradually more and more apparent that the drumming was accompanied by a faint after beat, a rhythm that didn't quite match the one in his own chest...

"Latvia?!" said a distant voice. In the haze of his blissful state, it hardly registered in Latvia's mind. But when the word was repeated a second time, an indesputable fact snapped into place.

The voice that cried his name was not Russia's.

* * *

Authors Note: I'm so, so sorry for the late update! Writers block, accompanied with many other personal problems, have prevented me from updating for so long. I hope that by the time my next update comes, it won't be such a long wait! I apologize, I'm sorry, urgh, please forgive me! I rushed to get this uploaded, though, so I hope you enjoy!


	9. Chapter Six

Gossip

* * *

"Like, totally~"

The unmistakable catchphrase itched against Latvia's nerves for the second time that day. And it most certainly wouldn't be the last.

It wasn't so much that he found Poland annoying... or exasperating... or completely, mind-bogglingly tiring... No, it wasn't really that. It was the fact that whenever he got like this, it was Latvia's privacy that always managed to pay the price.

"I told you," he said, as he shifted away from the ostentatious young man. The blue bench wobbled at his movement, and the flaking paint threatened to leave a streak along his clean, embroidered clothing. "I don't! I don't like him... like... _that.._!"

Poland giggled, and brushed his short, blond hair behind his shoulder. "Oh come on, you can like, _totally_ tell!" There it was again. "I think it's cute, I mean, come on. You two would like, be adorable together."

A small, warm breeze drifted through the golden wheat, tousling the tall grass and sending invaluable grains to float off to the ground. Grains they should have been collecting. They _would _have been collecting it, if it was up to Lat. But Poland was content with his half-hourly, ten minute breaks today. So long as he had company.

"... Even if I _did..._" Latvia begrudgingly murmured, "It's not as if he'd like me back."

Poland sighed. "Jeez, you two are so tiring." _Because you're one to talk..._ thought the younger."Of course he likes you. I mean, aren't you like, his type or something? You're small and cute and stuff."

Latvia's hands defensively wound around his legs. "I'm not that small..!"

"Whatever," the tall blond laughed, fwipping his hair again as he turned to him. "You know what I like, mean."

There was a small pause in the breeze, and the heat of the sun bore down on Latvia's small, pale shoulders. It seemed to warm him, inside and out. Maybe Poland was right... Maybe the young, tall, brooding Russian liked him back... The thought of it made his toes curl up inside his shoes. His fingers fiddled with each other, and he knew that the pink on his cheeks wasn't because of the unusual heat of the day. It wasn't because of sunburn he was turning red.

"... Poland..?" he asked.

"Hah~?"

The curt response almost made Latvia smile.

"... I'm scared..."

A pause.

"... Oh." Latvia's face buried in his knees with embarrassment. Perhaps he shouldn't have said anything. "... Well, that's okay."

"... Huh..?"

"That's okay that you're scared. I mean, like, everyone gets scared sometimes, right?" At his current age, Poland's legs were short enough to swing carelessly in and out in front of the bench. Latvia moved his eyes to look at Poland's happy, childish figure. The other leaned back, looking up at the sky, his hands tightly gripping the edge of the bench. "Especially," he said, "With things like your heart. Even _I _get scared with things like that."

The thought seemed proposterous, even for someone as frivolous as Poland. "You... get scared..?" He never seemed to get bothered by anything.

"Yeah." For the first time that sitting, his legs stopped moving. Another breeze blew by. It was as if he was looking at the wind itself, hair the color of sun shining down upon the wheat fields, catching and flowing behind him in the swirling draft. "Yeah." he repeated, and then he turned to meet Latvia's eyes, which were peeking up from his scrubby knees. "I get scared a lot, when I think of things like love." His face looked solemn, perhaps more serious than Latvia had ever seen. But plastered to it was a smile, one that, no matter how goofy looking or idiotic it seemed, always seemed to bring a seed of comfort to whoever it was directed toward. And once more his legs started kicking, his cheerful face turning back towards at the wheat fields. "But I know who to rely on when I get scared." he said, and the breeze kept on drifting by.

Latvia turned to look out at the wheat fields too.

He wasn't exactly sure what Poland meant by his words, but...

He had some idea.


End file.
